


Take only what you need

by RemainNameless



Series: Starts with "F", Ends with "U" [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Badwrong, Coercion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Extortion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Threats of Violence, tbh i think there's snuggling in every chapter ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemainNameless/pseuds/RemainNameless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>later sequel to "You hollow out my hungry eyes"</p><p>Derek goes to have a little chat with Rafael McCall. Or kill him. Whichever happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take only what you need

**Author's Note:**

> WOW there are W A R N I N G S GALORE  
> (btw this is part nine of something if u r new here)  
> SO. WARNINGS. It is /heavily/ implied that a rape occurred but it's never specifically referred to in a graphic or descriptive manner, and a character goes on to coerce another into sexual activity (but not with violence), or attempts to. Also there's some very vague incestuous implications? not overt in any way but like in a "that's not really a normal thing to do and you're being skeevy right now" way. Andddd references to Kate-related stuff.  
> but u might come out of this chapter slightly better than going in :)
> 
> also, beta'd by Qhuinn! and i have whined about my difficulties with this chapter all over tumblr, but silvia bore the brunt of it tbh <3

Stiles is snoring softly when Derek leaves the bathroom. He’s frowning into Derek’s pillow, wrapped up tight in the extra blanket Derek never uses. 

Derek stretches out on the bed a foot or two away, watches him breathe. 

It’s not clear how deeply he’s asleep. Or if it’ll last. 

The image of Stiles waking up screaming and alone claws at him from the inside. He can’t _do_ that to him. Stiles asked him to stay, so he has to stay. It’s that simple. 

Or he could go kill Rafa and just be done with it. 

Break a promise to Stiles or let Rafa get away with this. Whatever _this_ is. All Derek knows is that Rafa’s scent hit him like a wave the second he opened the car door, enough to make his stomach flip, that Stiles’ eyes and mouth had been red, that he’d been _terrified_. That he’s _still_ terrified, fear seeping out of him with every breath. 

He shouldn’t have left Stiles at home. He wasn’t okay when Derek left, he’d seen it, and he should’ve just stayed. Or left and climbed back in through the window. _Something,_ so Stiles didn’t have to be alone. 

And now Derek can barely look at him when he’s awake, sickened by the fact that he’s attracted to Stiles. It hadn’t meant anything before yesterday. It was just a fact, that Stiles is fucking beautiful in a way that hurts. Like the fact that Scott will never trust him, that the Argents are hunters, that Derek himself can’t win. And he’d _known_ that nothing good could’ve come from Scott’s fucking _father_ wanting Stiles. It’s not like he’d thought that was normal. It’s fucked up in a lot of ways, but Derek had _trusted_. 

Because Stiles is smart. He’s smarter than Derek ever was, better at making plans and figuring things out. Derek believed— No, he’d _wanted_ to believe that Stiles knew what he was doing. He’d wanted to believe that Stiles could win this, could see through it all the way Derek couldn’t. Like a victory in their column could earn them a resurrection. It doesn’t work like that, he knows it, but Stiles had believed in what he was doing and Derek believes in _him_ like no one else. 

He didn’t realize until he’d heard them, didn’t realize how deep Stiles was in it, and it had floored him. Thrown him on his back with dust-dirt rubbing into his skin and Kate Argent riding him in the dark echo of an empty warehouse, the taste of her thick in his mouth, right there the night before his family had burned, the night Peter had found them fucking and talked to them both like she wasn’t wrapped too tight and sickeningly sweet around him. He’d been too close to go soft, too afraid of revealing what he was to make her stop, and after she’d made him finish, he hadn’t been able to come without feeling nauseous for months. 

Stiles doesn’t deserve any of this. He doesn’t deserve whatever Rafa’s done to him, what Derek can barely think of because he shouldn’t have left him, shouldn’t have let him go, should’ve been there to stop it. Shouldn’t have asked about it, either, should’ve just left it at _I don’t remember_ , but now he knows. He knows something happened, and he knows he has to make Rafa bleed for it. 

Derek hasn’t let himself be truly _angry_ for a long time — it rolled like a tide into grief and guilt and dragged him under — but he’s feeling it now, how it burns under his skin, makes his body want to move. 

If he leaves now, he can do it and be back in maybe an hour. Not long. Last time he’d slept, Stiles had been out at least that long, and he’s more tired now. He might even sleep until it’s light. He won’t even know that Derek’s been gone. 

Looking at him, Derek wants to kiss him, like he always does. And like he always does, he holds himself back. He can’t, he won’t, not until he knows for sure that Stiles wants him to. That he wants Derek to for the right reasons, not just because he wants to fuck something bad out of his system, like Derek had done for years until Laura had sat him down and asked him to stop. It only hurts worse, really, and Derek won’t let Stiles use him to hurt himself. He’s not going to be Stiles’ self-flagellation. 

He’s finding Stiles’ keys before he knows what he’s doing, right where he’d left them on the table last night, and he’s afraid of leaving Stiles alone but afraid of letting Rafa get away with it more. 

Stiles’ phone is in the cup holder, reading an unshocking number of missed calls from Derek’s phone. Derek’s not sure exactly where he’s going, but he knows the road Stiles took, and he figures there’s a chance that it’ll be in his phone, somewhere. 

And that’s how he ends up going through the conversation between Stiles and an unlabelled number that couldn’t be anyone but Rafa. He scrolls through it, and he _has_ to read it, can’t _not_ , even though it’s probably an invasion of privacy, even though Stiles would probably be mad if he knew what Derek’s doing, but his curiosity is a sick thing that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

But he figures out where to go. That’s something to come from it. He knows where it is, too, stayed at that motel for the first couple nights after he came back to find Laura. It’s clean and cheap and they don’t ask a lot of questions. 

Should he feel bad for stealing Stiles’ Jeep to kill his— to have a very intense conversation with Rafa? _Maybe_. But he doesn’t. Not even a little bit.

Actually, he spends most of the drive trying to hold himself in, pull himself back from the edge of too feral. The moon’s not for another few days, but the only thing keeping him in the bones of a man is Stiles’ scent. Stronger than Rafa’s, soaked into the interior of the car, thankfully, but he keeps catching edges of the wrong scent. Body burning hot and then sinking down, like taking the lid off an over boiling pot. It can only last so long, though.

It’s almost one o’clock, but in the parking lot, when Derek scans the door numbers for the right one, it looks like Rafa’s still up. The blinds are shut, but there’s light behind them, and something about that just makes Derek so _mad_. 

He has to force himself to take deep breaths, ground himself, because it’s not going to help anything if he shows up at Rafa’s door with the fangs out. It’s not going to help a bit. 

Derek’s not completely stupid; he knows that much. 

But there’s a significant part of him that wants to tear Rafa’s throat out with his teeth so he can taste it. _Slowly_. There’s a significant part of him that wants to hear Rafa scream, and wants Stiles to get to hear it too. Derek wants to hear Rafa’s heartbeat like a drum, loud with panic over his own. 

Rafa’s fear, he imagines, smells sweeter than anything. 

At the door, he thinks about just kicking it in. It would be _easy_ , and it would probably scare the shit out of Rafa, but it’s not very subtle. Sure, _Derek_ ’s not very subtle, but this isn’t for him. This is for Stiles, which means he’s going to do it right. 

So he knocks. 

Well, he pounds the door with a fist. It’s close enough. He can hear Rafa inside, setting something down on a table, the roll of a chair, getting up, walking across the floor, the slide of the chain, the unlocking of the door, and there he fucking is. 

Derek’s _not_ going to just kill him. He’s not. 

“You took your time, didn’t you?” Rafa says as he steps aside. “But that’s right. You don’t have a _car_. Did you have to walk all the way here?” 

Derek stares at him for a moment, holding himself back, before stepping inside. He can smell Stiles here and it makes him a little nauseous because he can smell sex, too, and sure, it could just be that Rafa jerked off after Stiles left, but what’s more likely, really?

Rafa shuts the door, walking past him, and _he_ smells like cheap bar soap and fresh clothes and expensive beer, his sleep pants and t-shirt not holding any scent but his own. It just means he’s changed and showered since, though.

“Go ahead,” Rafa says as he ducks into the mini-fridge and pulls out an unopened bottle. “Threaten away.” He leans back against the desk, one leg crossing over the other at the ankle, and Derek’s maybe never felt this much pure _rage_ in his life. Rafa has no fear of him, doesn’t even see him as a blip on his radar as a threat, and Derek wants to show him, then. Wants to let him see _teeth_.

But he’s shaking, silent in anger, trying so hard not to do it because if he slips, if he lets Rafa know who he is, he _has_ to kill him, and as much as he wants to, he wants Stiles to have the option of doing it himself. For catharsis. For closure. Derek won’t take that away from him. 

Rafa snorts. “Well, _this_ has been fun, but if you’re too fucking impotent to even get it out, the door’s over there,” he says, pointing. 

“What did you _do_ to him?” Derek gets out. He doesn’t really want to know, honestly, doesn’t think he could bear hearing it, but he will. For Stiles. 

“Nothing he didn’t beg for in the end,” Rafa says with a pleased smirk, and before he knows what he’s doing, Derek’s hands are wrapped around his neck. He manages to stop himself from just snapping it, ending it here and now, but there’s a loud voice in his head telling him that Stiles deserves this moment more than he does. 

There’s a sound as Rafa sets his bottle down, but the thing is, his heart rate is _barely_ elevated. He’s not cowering like he should be; no, he’s _grinning_. 

“Tell me, Derek: how does it feel, getting my sloppy seconds? Does it make you _burn_? Or is there a part of you that knows that’s the best you’ll ever get?” His voice is even, like Derek’s on the other side of the room, not standing here with the power to end him, if he wanted, but Derek can barely hear him over the rush of blood in his ears, the way he’s fighting to keep himself down. 

“You have no idea how close I am to killing you right now,” Derek tells him, tightening his grip just a little, just to make him feel it. 

“Wow,” Rafa says, and Derek’s trying too hard to stare some fear into him that he doesn’t see the dark blur in his peripheral until he hears the click a round entering the chamber of a gun. “I’m _terrified_.” Derek looks between the gun pointed at his head and Rafa’s face, trying to gauge his bluff by his pulse, but there’s nothing there. He’s steady, unmoved.

“You’re not that stupid,” Derek tells him, but he’s not sure, doesn’t know how long it would take him to heal when half of his skull and a chunk of his brain is missing. He’s never met anyone who’s survived being shot in the head before. 

“I’m not stupid at all,” Rafa says. “The room’s paid to the end of next week, cash, and it’s enough that no one’s going to come poking around until then. You and Stiles are the only two who think I’m not staying at the Marriott, and something tells me he might keep quiet about why he knows that. So just understand that I could kill you and walk away and no one would be the wiser for it. Got it?” 

Derek’s eyes narrow. 

“You don’t want to play this game with me. I _will_ win.” 

But Derek can’t let go. He can’t _make_ himself release his grip on Rafa’s throat because all he’s letting himself think of is Stiles, just trying not to break, trying not to let himself shift. Stiles, who would be _pissed_ if Derek killed him, if only because he didn’t come here with a plan for clean-up, so he’d almost _certainly_ get arrested for it. He fucking knows that. 

But he can’t let go. 

Rafa’s mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but he’s cut off by a buzz on the desk. A phone on vibrate. 

“That’s my work phone. I’m going to answer it, and if you try to stop me, I’ll do what I have to. Understand?” Derek nods once, and Rafa reaches behind himself with his free hand, brings the phone up to his ear. “McCall,” he answers. 

“ _I’ve got the warrant_ ,” the voice on the other end says, and Rafa’s smile spreads like oil over water. 

“Excellent.” 

“ _Should we wait until morning to bring him in?_ ” 

Rafa stares at Derek and there’s something deeply unnerving about it. “Let me decide. I’ll call you back in a few.” He hangs up without breaking eye contact. “You have the next two minutes to convince me not to send someone over to your loft right now to arrest you. Who will they find there, I wonder?” 

Derek stares right back, paralyzed, and, not for the first time, thinks he may have underestimated Rafa.

“I should be clear: I’m going to arrest you in the next twelve hours no matter what,” Rafa tells him. “That’s a guarantee. But I feel like I should at least give you an opportunity to choose between now or a decent hour, or at least get the underage boy who, I’m assuming, is in a state of undress, out of your apartment. I’m not a cruel man, Derek. There’s no need for this to get messy.” 

After a moment of competition between his self-loathing and worry about Stiles, Derek takes a step back, dropping his hands. “What could you possibly want from me?”

“To start with? Information. I want you to tell me everything you know.” Rafa shrugs, eerily casual, and his gun is still pointed at Derek’s head. 

“I didn’t know Jennifer was killing people until the Sheriff was kidnapped,” Derek tells him. “And I didn’t kill her. I don’t know who did.” 

“That’s bullshit and we both know it,” Rafa says, smiling a little. “You don’t have anything close to an alibi, and I’m not in a patient mood. Give me something better, or I’ll send someone over to your place now.”

Derek looks down and he _knows_ that Stiles and Scott are going to be pissed at him for this, but it’s a bet he’s willing to make. “You want my alibi? Talk to Scott. I was with him before I left town.” 

Rafa nods, and he seems to accept it. “Tell me about your uncle.” Derek blinks. The only person who could’ve told him about Peter is Stiles, and he has _no_ idea what Stiles said.

“I don’t know where he is,” Derek tells him. “I don’t know where he lives. He comes to me when he’s _bored_ or something.”

“Are you alone?” Derek frowns, starts to ask what he means when Rafa keeps going. “When he drops in, are you usually alone?”

 _That_ ’s a weird question, and Derek has to think about it for a moment. “Not usually.”

“Who’s with you?”

There’s something pointed about it. “You want to know if it’s usually when Stiles is there, don’t you?” Rafa gives him a look like he thinks Derek’s a complete idiot. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know, I don’t pay that much attention to what Peter does.”

“Who would know where I can find him?” Rafa asks.

“I don’t know. No one does. No one really wants to know. He’s not exactly anyone’s favorite.” 

Rafa doesn’t say anything for a moment, like he’s thinking, and it makes Derek a little nervous. He’s missing too many pieces to know what he should say. It’s a shitty place to be. 

“Fine,” Rafa says, like he’s just decided something. “Tell me: does it drive you _crazy_ how much you want to fuck Stiles?” Derek grits his teeth, claws digging into the flesh of his palms as he holds back the itching in his gums, his forehead, and Rafa just _grins_. “His ass is like hot silk, you know. Feels like fucking heaven, and he’ll bend over easy as anything if you know what to say. Honestly, I was kind of surprised when I realized he hadn’t begged you for a good dicking yet, but then it _all_ made sense. Don’t worry, Derek, there’s probably a few people out there who still think size doesn’t matter.”

Derek’s not fucking stupid, he _knows_ Rafa’s just trying to get a rise out of him, provoke him, but it works a little. It stings, but it does. 

“Don’t talk about him like you know him,” Derek says. “You don’t know him at all.”

“You think I don’t know him?” He snorts, mouth like a razor’s edge. “I _made_ him.” 

Before Derek can figure out what that means, Rafa’s shaking his head, halfway to something that would only vaguely resemble a laugh. 

“That’s it. You know, I’ve tried to teach you your place in all of this, but apparently, you’re too stupid to catch on.” He gestures with the gun, and Derek has _no_ idea what that means until he says, “Get on your knees.” 

“Are you— I didn’t think I was your type,” Derek snaps, not sure if his hands are wet with sweat or blood. “ _Too old_.” 

Rafa rolls his eyes. “And _now_ it all makes sense,” he says, then, very slowly, like he’s talking to a child, “Sex is almost never about sex, Derek. It’s about power. Now get on your knees.” 

“I actually can’t believe you seriously think you can make me blow you,” Derek says and he’s _stunned_ , honestly. 

Rafa wiggles his phone, then starts tapping the screen. “It’s like this: carrot or stick,” he says. “If you choose not to, which you can, of course, then I’ll kindly ask Agent Ruiz to make a little trip to that faux-industrial shithole you call home. Personally, I hope Stiles is naked when she gets there, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking. _Or_ , if you’re good, I’ll suggest that everyone get a couple hours of sleep and we’ll visit you in the morning. You’ll have enough time to send our favorite minor on his way.” 

It’s not like Derek’s really _thinking_ about it. It’s fucking gross, but he can’t help but look at the gun and wonder what’s the real stick in this scenario. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about this,” Rafa says, nodding at it, “unless you use your teeth, that is.” Derek’s got a remark about his teeth tucked under his tongue, but he keeps it there. It won’t do anyone any good.

“I want you to leave him alone,” Derek says. “After this, you and Stiles are done.”

Rafa stares at him for a moment, smirk widening. “ _If_ he can stop. I won’t seek him out, but if he comes to me, he’s fair game. And he _will_ come to me. You know that, don’t you? He won’t ever be able to stop.” 

Derek’s a moment away from just saying _fuck everything_ and finding a way to beat the shit out of him, but he remembers that it’s not true, and he remembers a promise that he made to Stiles. That he’d do this if it meant Stiles wouldn’t have to. Derek doesn’t make promises he won’t keep. Not anymore, not like when he’d told Boyd and Erica he’d make them stronger and faster, make them able to heal from anything. 

Without letting himself think about it too much, Derek sinks down to his knees. The scent of Rafa’s satisfaction is cloying, sticks inside his nose in a film. 

If it’s for Stiles, he can handle it. It’ll be fine. It’ll be shitty, but it’ll be worth it. 

“It’s in your interests to do your best,” Rafa tells him as Derek reaches for the waistband of his sleep pants, “because if you don’t try, I’ll move up the time we come by. In case you weren’t properly motivated.” 

Derek doesn’t trust himself to respond in a way that won’t involve some sort of violence, so he bites his tongue and wraps a hand around Rafa’s dick. He’s half-hard, and Derek’s been smelling something that he can now recognize as low-grade arousal since he’d pulled the gun on Derek. 

What’s going to happen is he’s going to just get it over with. He’s going to do this as well as he can so it’s over _fast_ , and that’s all there is to it. 

It’s been a long fucking time since Derek’s touched someone else’s dick, and this one is almost enough to sour him off them forever purely on the basis of who it’s attached to. He’s getting hard pretty fast in the pull of Derek’s fist, and while he spares himself a vainly-hopeful second to wonder if Stiles prefers men who are uncircumcised, he looks up. 

Rafa’s watching him. 

And he’s so fucking _pleased_ by what he’s seeing, Derek can tell by the way his dick tries to jump in his hand. He fucking _loves_ seeing Derek like this, and Derek gets what it is, he’s felt the rush of looking down and seeing someone’s face next to his dick, knowing they’re giving a part of themselves to him, but he’d been lost then. And he’d spent time right here, too, forcing himself to do it until he could stand it, until he understood why he sometimes liked it.

The thing is, Derek knows that sex can be power, and he also knows that the person with the real power is the one on their knees.

Rafa’s pretty much hard, as hard as he’ll probably get until right before he finishes, and Derek takes a second to look at his dick, figure out how he’s going to do this. Because he can’t _do this_. It’s wrong on every level. He knows where this dick has been and Derek’s not going to fucking _reward_ him for it. There’s no way he’d be able to live with himself if he did. There’s no way he’d be able to look Stiles in the eye again.

“Are you _scared_?” Rafa asks with a little smug laugh. “I know it’s a lot, but you can handle it. Sure, Stiles cried the first time he did, but he took it all the way in like a good boy. Are you a good boy, Derek?”

“ _No_ ,” Derek tells him, grabbing him by the balls and twisting, just enough to make him howl and bite at his phone hand without causing any permanent damage. His breath comes out sharp from his nose, eyes screwed shut in pain. “So here’s how this is going to go: you’re going to call your buddy and tell her that you’ll arrest me up in the morning. And then you’re going to take the battery out of your phone and give it to me. If you don’t, you lose these.” He squeezes a little and Rafa sucks in a harsh breath. “And if you fuck around with that gun, you’ll wish you hadn’t. _Trust me,_ I’d just put it down if I were you. I don’t know what might happen to you if I got a little nervous.”

Rafa looks down at him, eyes wide, heart beating a bit faster.

“Understand?” 

Rafa sets the gun down on the desk, and Derek grabs it before he can do anything tricky, slides it under the bed.

“That’s better. Now make the fucking call.” He releases him a little so he can actually talk, but it makes him sad to do it.

It’s not like it isn’t a bit of a rush when Rafa does as he says. It’s satisfying as hell, finally having him like this, where he’s weak. While Rafa’s talking, he tugs a little, makes Rafa hiss just for fun. 

He hangs up, looks down sharply. “ _There_. You’ve made your point. Done?”

Derek shakes his head. “I believe I asked you for your phone battery. I’m not stupid, I know you can just call back, so I’m not leaving here without it.” He’s tempted to throw in something about Stiles, but he knows it wouldn’t work; as soon as he lets go, he’s not the one in power any more.

Rafa’s eyes narrow, but he pops the battery out of his phone and holds it out. He doesn’t let go at first, but Derek yanks it out of his hands and tucks it deep into his pocket. That done, he stands and looks Rafa in the eye, but he doesn’t smell scared like he should. 

“I might have underestimated you,” Rafa says evenly. “You’re still losing where it counts, but you’re not a total loss.”

“No, you’ve already lost,” Derek tells him. “You lost the first time he ran to me when you were done with him. _Doesn’t it make you crazy_ ,” he parrots, “that he’s always running away from you?” 

Rafa’s jaw clenches. “I had him first. He’s been mine since the start, and no matter what you do, I’ll still be his first.”

“True,” Derek says, “but with a little luck, he’ll choose me to be his last.” He lets go of Rafa’s balls but headbutts him for good measure. Not enough to knock him out, but going by the _crack_ and the blood pushing between his fingers as he holds his face, enough to break his nose. 

He feels a fuck of a lot better as he leaves, smiling to himself as he slams the door shut behind him.

 

Stiles is still sleeping when he gets back. He’s flattened out a little, half-starfishing towards the center of the room with his mouth open, drooling on Derek’s pillow. 

It might be the sweetest sight he’s ever seen.

Derek gets his shoes off and crawls into bed behind him, not quite touching but almost. “ _I’m going to protect you_ ,” he whispers. It’s not quiet enough because Stiles makes a little huffing sound and moves back against him.

Tentatively, Derek puts an arm around him, around the base of his ribs, and Stiles twists closer into his hold. He’s warm and has that Stiles-smell that blends so sweetly with Derek’s scent. 

“ _I’m going to save you_ ,” he says into Stiles’ hair, and for a very strange, foreign moment, he feels like he’s done the right thing.

 

Derek’s phone buzzes a wakeup call under his pillow an hour before Rafa’d told the other officer they were going to come by. Stiles has migrated into a sprawl, like he’s imposing his manifest destiny over Derek’s bed. His mouth looks dry, still wide open, and he has morning breath, but Derek could stand to wake up like this every morning for the rest of his life, probably. 

That’s wishful thinking, though. 

He shakes Stiles gently by the shoulder. It takes a couple tries for Stiles to actually open his eyes. He smacks his lips, blinking and squinting at Derek until his eyes focus. 

“What time is it?” 

“A little after seven,” Derek tells him, “but you need to wake up. Your dad texted me last night. They’re going to come to arrest me, and they can’t find you here, okay?”

“‘M not letting them _arrest_ you. That’s stupid.” Stiles frowns and flops over onto his back, grins the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “It’s too early for this shit. I feel like I could sleep for another hundred years.”

Derek shrugs. “I know. But this way we can prove I didn’t do anything. Come on. You have to get up.” He nudges Stiles in the side with his knee, and Stiles makes a bratty whiny sound. 

“But I don’t _wanna_ ,” he complains, even though he’s already moving to get up.

Derek watches him push himself up to a sitting position with his shoulders hanging over his knees, the weary lines of his body. He _needs_ another hundred years of sleep, but it’s more than that. He’s worn out, worn thin. There’s a lot of things Stiles needs, and Derek’s not sure he can give him all of them. 

“You just gonna lay there when I can’t? That’s cruel, dude.” 

“I think…” Derek sighs. “I think we should talk about last night. Not this morning, but we should.” 

Stiles looks at him with too many lines around his eyes. “Okay. Yeah. Alright. I don’t know what I can tell you that I didn’t tell you last night, but fine. We’ll talk. Whatever.”

“I’m not— I don’t want to _interrogate_ you,” Derek tells him, “I just think we should talk about...how we’re going to proceed, I guess.” 

“And when are we going to do that?” Stiles asks, hands dropping to his lap. “When you’re in a holding cell?”

Derek props himself up on an elbow. “Hey, nothing’s going to happen, you know that? I didn’t do anything. They won’t be able to hold me. And your dad will be able to give you all the updates you could possibly want. It’s going to be fine.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” He stares down at his hands for a long time while Derek can’t find words, stares until he looks at Derek. “Don’t say anything stupid, okay? It would be just like you to say something stupid and get yourself into trouble, so _don’t_.” 

“I won’t,” Derek promises.

“Good,” Stiles tells him, smiling a little, “because I’ll totally beat you up if you do.” 

Derek snorts, butts his knuckles against his shoulder. “I’d tell you to go ahead and try, but you might hurt yourself.”

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles says, grinning as he tackles Derek, who lets the impact of his weight knock him onto his back. “You’re a jerk, you know that?” Stiles tells him. Derek’s shirt is bunched in his fists and he’s half on top of him. It’s not really a surprise when the first trace of arousal wafts to him because the space between them feels like it’s vibrating, but it’s pretty much the worst possible time for this. Stiles’ hands flatten on his chest, sliding up to his neck and shoulders. Derek covers them with his own, stops them. 

“You should go,” Derek says.

Stiles sighs, head dropping. “Yeah, okay. Got it.”

Derek grabs one of his hands, squeezes it. “We’ll talk when this is done, alright?”

“Fine. We’ll talk. And I’ll go. But if anything goes wrong, I swear, I’m going to throttle you.”

“And I’ll let you, okay? Now _go_.”

“Jeez, kicking me out like last night’s cheap trash. What if I have to pee, Derek? So inconsiderate.”

“Go pee, then, _Christ_ ,” Derek complains, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

“I don’t actually have to pee, but I’m getting something to drink, asshole,” Stiles tells him as he gets up. Barefoot, he pads over the kitchen and opens the fridge. “FYI, I’m stealing these clothes for at least the near future.”

“That’s fine, but take what you wore last night with you. If they search my place, I don’t want them to find your stuff.” 

Stiles walks around, drinking, going by the sound of swallowing. The path of his familiar noise heads into the bathroom and out again, to put on his shoes. 

“Your keys are on the table, by the way,” Derek tells him, rolling over to look at him. 

“Thanks,” Stiles says, giving him a lopsided smile before going to grab them. “Remember: don’t say anything stupid. Okay?”

Derek can’t hold back a touch of sarcasm as he says, “ _Got it_.” 

Stiles waves him off, rolling his eyes, and heads out. Derek listens to him all the way to the elevator and down, then turns over to see if he can catch a few more minutes of sleep instead of worrying. 

 

The next time he opens his eyes, it’s to someone pounding on his door. 

He’s ready.

**Author's Note:**

> more to come bbs <3


End file.
